


Uncorrupted Carmine Red

by Nikita_Emerald



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drama, Eventual Romance, M/M, Murder Mystery, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5232002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikita_Emerald/pseuds/Nikita_Emerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Clint Barton wakes up covered in blood, and no memory of the night before he starts to panic. What happened? Is he a monster? Not being able to answer any of these questions he enlists help from Phil Coulson, the only man who can make Clint feel like he isn't going mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncorrupted Carmine Red

**Chapter One**

 

 

**Beep Beep Beep**

I groan and inwardly curse as the alarm begins to sing me the song of its people at 0500. I don't bother opening my eyes as I smack the snooze button and nestle my head deeper into the feather pillow. “ _Whats that smell?”_ I think to myself as I start to doze off again. “ _I've smelt it before. Iron? No, copper pipes. No. Oh I know, Laura's hands after her and the kids finished rolling all those pennies. No, not pennies...”_

_**Blood.** _

I snap fully awake at finally being able to place the scent that seems to be all around me. I pull the chain on the lamp next to the bed to illuminate the room.

“Oh god” I mutter quietly, looking the room over in horror. The sheets on the bed are covered in blood, my naked body saturated in blood that's still drying. I feel the sense of dread slowly fill my gut but years of training as an assassin quickly kick in. I roll from the bed and land in a crouching position on the floor, pulling out my Beretta handgun from under the night stand. I survey the empty bedroom quickly, looking for anything out of place before standing, holding the gun with both hands. From the constant training with S.H.I.E.L.D my hands don't tremble as I grip the gun in my blood soaked fingers.

“ _Where the hell did the blood come from?”_ My mind distantly thought as I began towards the bathroom connected to the master bedroom. It took 5 minutes for me to cover the entire three bedroom apartment I use as a safe house, but just to be sure I do another more thorough sweep. Satisfied that I'm alone, I cautiously make my way back to the bedroom and the bloody mess. My first thought is to call Phil but as I look around for my cellphone the image of a woman's face pops into my mind. A pale face with blood trickling down her chin from her open mouth. As quickly as the image appears, it disappears, leaving a dull pounding headache in its wake.

“Who the fuck was that?!” I ask the empty room, the sinking feeling of dread returning to my gut. Not wanting to contaminate any more evidence I sit on the cold hardwood floor and lean back against the wall next to the fireplace, the gun still in my tight grasp. I Immediately think back to last night for some sort of explanation but the only thing my mind produces is a sort of gray fog. “Why can't I remember anything? Wait... There's something.. Someone... Phil?”

  
  


***Flashback: The Previous Night***

 

“Clint you know the rules.” Phil Coulson said from behind his immaculate mahogany desk. I sit opposite of him in one of the guest chairs with my feet propped up on top the piece of furniture with my hands folded in my lap.

“C'mon! You're the director now. You make the rules.” I hate the fact I have to whine and plead for a new assignment, but it does give me the opportunity to visit Phil and any excuse to get him alone is well worth it.

“I wish it was that simple. I'd have you back in an instant but according to S.H.I.E.L.D regulations you have to finish your six week sabbatical, and pass your psych evaluation and firearm test before returning to active duty.” Phil scanned his tablet, sliding his fingers over the small screen as he quickly read the contents. It's these moments with Phil distracted that I can stare unabashedly at the handsome man in front of me. It has to be illegal for a man to look that good in a suit.

“But it's so boring.” When he looks up from the screen I look anywhere in the office but at him, not wanting to get caught awkwardly staring... again.

“Have you spoken to Laura recently?” I uncontrollably wince at Phil's question. “Sorry. Are things still tense?” He asks in a soft tone, referencing mine and Laura's separation six months ago.

“Yeah, well, come home from saving the world and your wife serves you with separation papers makes things pretty tense.” Bitter memories go through my mind of the kids and how my normal life used to be.

“How are Lila and Cooper taking it?” Phil is watching me closely for some reason. I can't help but shift uncomfortably at his intense gaze.

“They're good. I'm always away on missions anyway and they seem to really like this guy Laura has been seeing. Nathaniel is still too young to know what's going on.” I feel like I should be angry over Laura having an affair but I've had six months to cope and at this point, as long as the kids are fine then it doesn't really rattle me.

“Why not take them camping for the week? That should help with the boredom of everyday life.” Phil looked up and did a double take at my feet. “Barton, if you don't get your shoes off my desk I'm going to stab you in the neck with a pen.” I laugh at the all too familiar threat

“I just had them for two weeks.” I sigh but do as I'm told and put my feet on the floor. “Besides Laura and my 'replacement' are taking them to Disneyland for two weeks. So unless you want to find some cowboy boots and go camping all Brokeback Mountain style then I'm out of options.” I'm not sure if that's a serious proposition, but I hold my breath and watch Phil's reaction carefully. I'm rewarded with his sincere laughter, a sound that always makes me smile.

“I'm drowning in paperwork, so I'll have to take a rain check. I might take Lola out this weekend if you want to join?” Was it just me, or did Phil sound hopeful.

“Can I drive?” Came my immediate response.

“Not on your life.” Phil said with a grin.

“Fine.” I said and head to the door, calling over the shoulder “Let me know if the world needs saving by a dashing bowman again.”

“Oh don't worry Robin Hood, I have you on speed dial.”

 

***End Flashback**

 

The harsh beeping of the alarm brought me sharply back to the real world. I curse and stumble over to the alarm clock to turn it off but the rhythmic pounding in my head won't stop. The white sheets and duvet are ruined with the amount of blood on them. With my past I'm no stranger to having blood on me but all I want to do right at this moment is scrub it off until my skin burns. I set the gun down on the nightstand next to the alarm clock and stare at the ceiling. For the first time in years I'm unsure of myself. I can't remember anything after leaving Phil’s office last night.

“ _What do I do? What do I do?”_ I keep asking myself but no answer comes to mind so I decide to ask a different question altogether. “ _What would Phil do?”_ Instantly the answer comes to me and I swiftly move to the hidden safe in the wall at the back of the walk in closet. Once the door is unlocked, I pull out a large black hard case with the S.H.I.E.L.D insignia on the front. I carry the heavy case to the kitchen and hoist it on top of the island with a grunt. In every S.H.I.E.L.D safe house there is one of these cases. Inside are an evidence collection kit, weapons, money, laptop, and all your other spy needs. I pull out the evidence kit and slide my hands into the latex gloves, heading back to the bedroom with the kit and get to work on collecting blood samples, pieces of stained sheets, and anything that might be a clue to what got me in this predicament. Once completed, I write a quick description on each bag and return it to the large case in the kitchen. I collect as much physical evidence as I can, from dirt under my fingernails to a saliva sample in case there is some unknown drug in my system that can be identified.

Once content with the amount of evidence collected, I finally allow myself to have a shower. I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall of the walk in shower, letting the scalding hot water rinse away the dried blood from my body. It's the first time this morning that I finally allow myself to breathe. The same questions keep running through my head, the headache I've been fighting off since I woke up still constantly banging away. Once satisfied all trace of blood on my body is washed away, I turn the water off and quickly dry myself, pulling on my Iron Man boxers to return to the bedroom. Not wanting to get blood anywhere else, I carefully fold up my bedsheets, pillow cases and duvet to put them in the washer. I pause for only a moment before turning the machine on and pouring half a bottle of bleach over the fabric. Destroying evidence is all a part of the job description of being a spy, but with so many questions still unanswered it felt wrong. But it's because of those unanswered questions that I have to remove the evidence in case this is all a set up.

It took two solid hours to clean the bedroom of all the blood and dirt. The clothes I wore the night before are in a plastic bag in the black case,now in the closet safe with the rest of the evidence. It was time to get dressed and answer some of these questions.

It was just after ten in the morning when I arrived at the science lab at the new S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, looking through the glass windows waiting for the perfect opportunity to get the lab to myself. The cute, young Scottish engineer, Fitz, seems to be glued to some project in front of him and doesn't look like he is leaving any time soon. I know it isn't the nicest tactic to pull on a man who was injured in the line of duty but I don't really have a lot to go on, so after a brief assessment of the situation I put my best heart stopping grin on and make my way to Fitz, making enough noise to alert the scientist he wasn't alone.

“Agent Barton!” Fitz stands quickly in shock, nearly knocking over his cup of tea. I grin wider and note how deeply satisfied I am at the blush that goes all the way to Fitz’s ears.

“Fitz.” I purr at him. “Working on a fun new toy for me to play with?”

“N-No... well I am but it's top secret.. I-I mean of course you have clearance after all you are a member of.. um... um...” Fitz closes his eyes tightly, his hands waving back and forth as he tries to put the words together in his mind. I immediately feel bad for using a flirting tactic, the engineer clearly still suffering from cerebral hypoxia.

“Avengers?” I said, trying to help him find the words

“Yes of course, the Avengers.” He said with a loud sigh, distracting himself with a piece of paper to cover his embarrassment.

“Don't worry Fitz, I'm not trying to get you to tell me all your secrets. Actually a friend of mine from the CIA asked me to look into a case for him. He found a blood sample that he can't get a match to. I was hoping our system would be better.” The lie rolls off my tongue with ease as I dig into my pocket and hold out the small Ziploc bag containing the q-tip with dried blood on it. Fitz grabbed the sample out of my hands before I could react, causing me to look at him in surprise.

“Well of course our system is better than the CIA. I personally reloaded the data onto the server after Ultron crashed our system.” The arrogant tone in Fitz's voice took me by surprise as I watched him move around the lab to different pieces of equipment. “I'm not a... umm.. You know.. forensic person.” I nodded slowly, trying to stop myself from hugging the poor man. “I'm engineering and weapons specialist but any 1st year agent can process DNA” He started to mumble and talk under his breath to the point I couldn't hear the full conversation he was having with himself.

“How long will the sy-” Was as far as I got before he interrupted.

“Already being processed and a match detected. Take that Mr. Central Intelligence Agency.” The superior haughty look Fitz was giving me made me smile but the information that he was loading on the screen was making me a bit uneasy. “Looks like the DNA matches a homicide that took place last night. Do you need a print out of the victims names and address?” I tried to keep my face impassive at Fitz's question, my eyes not being able to focus on the screen. “ _Homicide? Oh fuck what am I in the middle of now?”_ Voices outside the lab cause me to snap back to reality.

“You know what, give me everything you have on them and the case file the local police have.” I try to say as calm as possible.

“Sure thing. Jump drive?” I put my hand on Fitz's arm to stop him for reaching for a USB.

“Print everything off and delete any record of this.” At the engineers confused look I continued “As I said it's a favor for a buddy in the CIA and the last thing we need is for them to think we're poaching their territory. It would give them an excuse to look at our system.”

“You're right” The horrified expression on Fitz's face at the thought of someone from the agency confiscating his hardware told me I said the right thing. “I'm printing everything out now as a hard file and deleting the contents so you'll have the only copy.” I hurry to the printer and stuff sheet after sheet into a file folder until Fitz notifies me that it's the last one. I peek over his shoulder and watch him delete the entry from the log.

“Thanks Fitz, I owe you big time for this.” I shut the folder and put it under my arm. “Better not tell the boss man.” I'm not sure what made me do it. It could have been for the help or the amount of progress Fitz has been making but I leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. He nodded vigorously as his face turns deep red.

“D-Don’t worry. It'll be o-our secret.” Fitz murmured under his breath, his fingers unconsciously touching where I had kissed him on the cheek. Seeing an exit, I head towards the glass doors and swing it open, the file tucked securely under my arm. I have to physically stop myself from turning right and heading towards Phil's office to pay him a visit. As much as I want to figure out what's happening in my life, the chance to see Phil is a tempting offer but I would reveal too much to him and it's still too early to know what I'm dealing with. I talk myself out of an afternoon meeting and instead head to my car and hurry home, the file a constant companion much like my worries. It was only once I was home sitting at the kitchen island on a bar stool that I opened the folder to examine it's contents.

Two traces of DNA were found on the cotton swab of the bed, a 100% match to a Miri and Dave Toup. The older married couple lived only eight blocks away, both retired, two kids and four grand kids between them. Nothing from their financial records or detailed paper trail to raise suspicion and nothing in their extended families file to result in a frame job. With a deep breath I pull out the homicide report with last night's date on it. Apparently, the couple were murdered in an underground parking lot near a shopping center, the woman stabbed once straight through the heart and the man stabbed over 15 times in random spots all over the body. As I look at the cold lifeless faces in the photos I start to sweat, tapping my foot against the stool from a nervous tick.

  
  


“ _The woman I saw before... this is her.”_ The thought makes me feel very uncomfortable as I try to remember anything from last night but am only greeted by a hazy black blanket that can't be penetrated. Looking back at the case file I pick up a picture of the murder weapon, an 8” Victorinox chefs knife with no fingerprints or trace evidence on it. Staring at the knife makes my heart beat faster, the pounding resonating in my ears as I stand with the picture and walk around the island to the kitchen counter. The knife is unique in that the handle is made from rosewood and I'm certain I've seen it before, which doesn't bode well for me. My fears come true as I pull the Victorinox knife block with rosewood handles closer, my fingers trailing over the empty slot where the chef knife should be.

  
  


“ _Oh god what did I do? No. I couldn't do this.”_ Picking the knife block up I take it to the bedroom where the disinfectant smell made my nose burn.

  
  


“ _Someone is setting me up”_ I halfheartedly push the buttons on the wall safe in the back of the closet and set the knife block on top of the black case.

  
  


“ _Then how did you know what the woman looked like and her injuries before seeing the evidence?”_ I slam the safe shut and replace the wood panel to cover it up, hating my own thoughts as they swirl around my head trying to find some sort of explanation.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for taking the time to give my fic a shot. A huge thank you to my best friend/sister for taking the time to be my BETA. R&R!  
> xoxoxoxox  
> -Nikita


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